Lie in the Bed You Make
by chibiness87
Summary: If it were anyone else, it would have been put down as stupid comment made on a frustrating day. But it’s not, and it isn’t. Brennan/Angela friendship angst.


**The bed which you make**, by **chibness87  
Spoilers:** yup. 5x06- TMitTC**  
Pairing:** none, really. Some BA friendship angst.**  
Summary:** If it were anyone else, it would have been put down as stupid comment made on a frustrating day. But it's not, and it isn't.**  
Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **Gah, I haven't written anything in ages! (Ok. Small lie. I've been writing... but most of it has been rubbish... and hence lack of posting. But now, new season, new inspiration, and new things to write about. Yay.) The scene mentioned in this fic slightly annoyed me... or, well, more the follow up to the scene. So this is my take. It may go WiP... I've yet to decide.

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It starts with the little things. The things so small most people wouldn't notice them, and in the beginning, she doesn't notice either. Because, well, her best friend _is_ a best-selling novelist when she isn't being a top forensic anthropologist, and of course she has a lot of things to do. So, if that means Brennan can't make it to a lunch date with her, well, it's not like she'll never see her again. After all, catching the bad guy is more important than hearing about the latest sale at Macy*s.

There are other signs that go unnoticed; it is Angela who goes to Brennan with news, case or otherwise, never the other way around. Group outings to the Founding Fathers are met with an excuse of work, or writing, or previous plans being made. She assumes it's with Booth, doesn't ask, and eventually the invitations being to lessen.

For almost a month she works side by side with Brennan, and doesn't notice what's going on right in front of her. It is only when Booth calls her, looking for his partner, that she realizes she hasn't seen her best friend outside of working hours for the better part of 2 weeks. The thought shocks her, appalls her, and really, what sort of friend can she call herself after this?

"Angela?" The sound of Booth's voice on the other end of her cell phone pulls the artist back to the present with a sickening lurch.

"Booth?"

Something must have given her away, because his tone has immediately shifted into one of concern. "Hey, Ange, you okay? You know where Bones is?"

"I, uh, no, I..." No, she doesn't know where Brennan is; hasn't really known her whereabouts for the past week. And at this realization, she is defiantly _not_ okay.

"You haven't seen her at the lab this morning?"

And that's the question, isn't it? Because a month ago, Bren would have made it a point to say hello, ask how she was, if she wanted a drink. Because that's the way their morning ritual went. And, with a horrifying thought, Angela couldn't in all honesty say when the greetings were delayed, the drink offer missed, the friendly catch up gone.

Some time in the last month, her best friend had started to pull away from her, and she had been so caught up in her own life, she hadn't noticed.

The cell phone felt heavy in her hand, and a glance at it showed Booth was still on the line. Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, she brought the phone back to her ear, to hear Booth's voice on the other end, calmer again.

"It's ok, Ange, she's here. Sorry I made you worry for nothing. Catch you later." And then the line went dead, and Angela was left feeling nauseous. Still feeling like she was moving in slow motion, she made her way to her office, locked the door, collapsed on the couch and began to think.

Moments in the last month passed through her brain, were quickly analyzed, and then dismissed as the cause of this new distance. Her eyes flew randomly around her office, almost as if seeing it for the first time. A cushion which Bren had picked out for her on one of her trips abroad. A jacket her friend had worn more than a week ago, abandoned on a chair. A framed picture of a pig, whom Brennan had helped save. Her best friend was everywhere in her office, and not there at all. And she had no idea why.

And then it hit her.

"_You know, Bren, sometimes I even wonder how we're even friends. I mean, we have nothing in common."_

"_You don't want to be my friend anymore?"_

She had regretted it the moment she had said it, but was too upset, too angry, to take it back. And then, after going to Sweets to find out Bren had talked to Booth about it, she was hurt. Hurt that something that was meant to be between the two of them was now common knowledge. It was only later, a signed cheque in her hand, she had silently forgiven her friend for telling Booth, and, by proxy, Sweets about their business.

And then she had forgotten all about it. After all, had it been anyone else, the exasperated words would have been taken as a friend blowing off steam at the nearest target. Had it been anyone else, they would have gotten coffee together, had a long discussion about what the issue really was (because, even now, Angela knew it hadn't been about the piglet. Not really). Had it been anyone else, everything would have gone on as normal. But she had forgotten, just for a second, who it was she had been talking to.

It wasn't anyone else, and, apparently, it hadn't just blown over at the end of the day.

And this, _this_ was the price she had to pay.

And now, one month later, she had no idea how to fix it.

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A/N: I'm really tempted to just leave it there... but let me know what you think.


End file.
